He sat on a step a few treads below hers to avoid touching her skirt. He listened as her story came out in fits and starts, detailing the heat and the stench of the prison, the dilapidated conditions, and the cramped cell. Most of all he felt the despair pouring off her in waves, so different from the normally radiant Caroline. She hung her head, palms to her forehead as though it was too much effort to hold it up.

“I need you to tell me not to have a cigarette,” she said, her voice muffled.

His heart turned over. “You can have one if it will help. You’ve been through a lot in the past few weeks.”

The toe of her red leather boot peeped out from beneath her skirt to tap his shoulder. “You’re not helping.”

Then he would divert her attention. “Did he tell how he got the artichokes into the kitchen?”

She laughed a little. “I asked. He wouldn’t tell.”

“But he’s behind it?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind.” Exhaustion made her voice faint, but even so, he could hear the affection. “I wish I could convince you he is innocent.”

He clasped the toe of her boot with his hand, giving her foot a quick squeeze. “I know you believe his innocence, and I also know you’re a loyal American. No one could work so hard in such a thankless task unless they were.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” She sighed and looked away. “Someone like you probably can’t understand why I’m so irrational about this. Unless you have a brother or a sister, it’s hard to describe the bond. It’s more than a friendship. We share the same blood, the same history. Even the same heart.”

“I had a sister once.” The words inadvertently popped out, surprising him as much as her.

“You did? I thought you said you had no family.”

“That’s true too. My mother left when I was young, and my dad died when I was fourteen. Molly was still a little kid, and I was the only one left to look out for her.”

Caroline leaned in closer, her face intrigued. If sharing his own loss would help her deal with this separation from her brother, he would do so. He told her about living in Chicago and working as a photoengraver during the overnight shift at the newspaper. He spoke of how he came home to wake Molly each morning, help her dress, and walk her to school.

Their walk ran alongside one of the logging runs on the river. Chicago was the largest lumber market in the nation, with schooners coming in from the Great Lakes and the Canadian timberlands. During logging season, Molly was fascinated by the thousands of logs that cascaded downstream until they arrived at the mills, where burly lumber-shovers guided the logs onto chutes and into the mills.